U*viv.  o? 

tJP  iw 

I  S' 3-1 


'11 


T 


ibrary 


Treasure  Trove 


of  Love  Songs 


D  odge  Publishing  Company 

Makers  of  Uni  q_u  e  Books  at 
2J  East  Twentieth  Street,  New  Tork 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2017  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign  Alternates 


https://archive.org/details/treasuretroveoflOOunse 


*>,u 


CONTENTS 


Because,  You  See,  I  Love  You  -  3 

The  Morning  of  Love  -  -  37 

Home  67 

The  Parting  of  the  Ways  -  «  7  7 

^And  their  Happiness  has  Heightened, 

Though  their  Hair  is  Growing  Gray  99 

dd  keep  You  Safely,  Dearest,  till 
the  Light  -  107 

CO 


[3] 


“T’M  sorry  that  I  spelt  the  word, 

X  I  hate  to  go  above  you. 

Because” — the  brown  eyes  lower  fell — 
“Because,  you  see,  I  love  you!  ” 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


[5] 


I  THINK  true  love  is  never  blind. 

But  rather  brings  an  added  light ; 

An  inner  vision  quick  to  find 

The  beauties  hid  from  common  sight. 

No  soul  can  ever  clearly  see 

Another’s  highest,  noblest  part; 

Save  through  the  sweet  philosophy 
And  loving  wisdom  of  the  heart. 

Phoebe  Cary 


1*1 


HOU  askest.  Love,  how  dear  thou  art  to  me  ! 


A  lifetime  of  sweet  answers  that  includes. 


Thou’rt  that,  which  my  much  blest  life  holds 
blessedest. 

Of  my  soul’s  self  the  dearer  counterpart; 

Dearest  of  all  dear  things  to  me  art  thou. 

Of  love’s  divinest  height  the  supreme  crest. 

Yet  I  can  never  say  how  dear  thou  art. 


Mary  Ashley  Townsend 


HOW  do  I  love  thee  ?  Let  me  count  the  ways. 
I  love  thee  to  the  depth  and  breadth  and 
height 

My  soul  can  reach,  when  feeling  out  of  sight 
For  the  ends  of  Being,  and  Ideal  Grace. 

I  love  thee  to  the  level  of  every  day’s 
Most  quiet  need,  by  sun  and  candlelight. 

I  love  thee  freely  as  men  strive  for  Right ; 

I  love  thee  purely  as  they  turn  from  Praise ; 

I  love  thee  with  the  passion  put  to  use 

In  my  old  griefs  and  with  my  childhood’s  faith  ; 

I  love  thee  with  a  love  I  seemed  to  lose 

With  my  lost  Saints, — I  love  thee  with  the  breath. 

Smiles,  tears,  of  all  my  life  !  and,  if  God  choose, 

I  shall  but  love  thee  better  after  death. 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


[8] 


SHE  stood  breast-high  amid  the  corn. 
Clasped  by  the  golden  light  of  morn. 
Like  the  sweetheart  of  the  sun. 

Who  many  a  glowing  kiss  had  won. 

On  her  cheek  an  Autumn  flush 
Deeply  ripened: — such  a  blush 
In  the  midst  of  brown  was  born. 

Like  red  poppies  grown  with  corn. 

Round  her  eyes  her  tresses  fell. 

Which  were  blackest  none  could  tell. 

But  long  lashes  veiled  a  light 
That  had  else  been  all  too  bright. 

And  her  hat,  with  shady  brim. 

Made  her  tressy  forehead  dim ; 

Thus  she  stood  amid  the  stooks. 

Praising  God  with  sweetest  looks. 

Sure,  I  said,  Heav’n  did  not  mean. 

Where  I  reap  thou  shouldst  but  glean  : 

Lay  thy  sheaf  adown  and  come, 

Share  my  harvest  and  my  home. 

Tom  Hooa 


[9] 


I  LOVE  thee — I  love  thee  ! 

’Tis  all  that  I  can  say; 

It  is  my  vision  in  the  night. 

My  dreaming  in  the  day ; 

The  very  echo  of  my  heart. 

The  blessing  when  I  pray. 

I  love  thee — I  love  thee  ! 

Is  all  that  I  can  say. 

I  love  thee — I  love  thee ! 

Is  ever  on  my  tongue. 

In  all  my  proudest  poesy 
That  chorus  still  is  sung; 

It  is  the  verdict  of  my  eyes 
Amidst  the  gay  and  young: 

I  love  thee — I  love  thee  ! 

A  thousand  maids  among. 

I  love  thee — I  love  thee  ! 

Thy  bright  and  hazel  glance. 

The  mellow  lute  upon  those  lips. 

Whose  tender  tones  entrance. 

But  most  dear  heart  of  hearts,  thy  proofs. 
That  still  these  words  enhance  ! 

I  love  thee — I  love  thee  ! 

Whatever  be  my  chance. 

[IO] 


Tom  Hood 


SHE  gathered  at  her  slender  waist 
The  beauteous  robe  she  wore; 

Its  folds  a  golden  belt  embraced  ; 

One  rose-hued  gem  it  bore. 

The  girdle  shrank  ;  its  lessening  round 
Still  kept  the  shining  gem. 

But  now  her  flowing  locks  it  bound, 

A  lustrous  diadem. 

And  narrower  still  the  circlet  grew. 

Behold  !  a  glittering  band. 

Its  roseate  diamond  set  anew. 

Her  neck’s  white  column  spanned. 

Suns  rise  and  set ;  the  straining  clasp 
The  shortened  links  resist. 

Yet  flashes  in  a  bracelet’s  grasp 
The  diamond  on  her  wrist. 

At  length,  the  round  of  changes  past 
The  thieving  years  could  bring. 

The  jewel,  glittering  to  the  last. 

Still  sparkles  in  a  ring. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 


1LOVE  you,  dear ! ”  and  saying  this. 

My  heart  responds,  <€  *Tis  true  !  ’tis  true  ! 99 
And  thrills  with  more  than  earthly  bliss  * 
While  still  I  say,  “1  love  but  you  !” 


‘  Why  should  I  love  you,  dear  ? 99  you  ask. 
As  tho’  true  love  could  reason  why  ; 

If  love  could  think,  ’twould  be  a  task 
For  me  to  love,  and  love  would  die. 


I  love  you  just  because  I  do. 

The  key  I  do  not  care  to  find. 

For  fear  the  strands  would  break  in  two 
That  me  a  willing  captive  bind. 

The  fact  is  all  I  want  to  know, 

I  will  not  grieve  while  that  is  given; 

To  lose  my  love  would  be  my  woe; 

To  keep  it  as  it  is,  is  heaven. 

George  W.  Crofts 


SHE  keeps  the  gift  of  years  before — 

A  withered  violet  is  her  bliss  ; 

She  knows  not  what  his  greatness  is ; 
For  that,  for  all,  she  loves  him  more. 

For  him  she  plays,  to  him  she  sings 
Of  early  faith  and  plighted  vows  ; 

She  knows  but  matters  of  the  house; 

And  he— he  knows  a  thousand  things. 

Her  faith  is  fixed  and  cannot  move  ; 

She  darkly  feels  him  great  and  wise ; 

She  dwells  on  him  with  faithful  eyes  ; 

I  cannot  understand — I  love.” 

Alfred ,  Lord  Tennyson 


HE  rides  away  at  early  light. 

Amid  the  tingling  frost. 

And  in  the  mist  that  sweeps  her  sight 
His  form  is  quickly  lost. 

He  crosses  now  the  silent  stream. 

Now  skirts  the  forest  drear. 

Whose  thickets  cast  a  silver  gleam 
From  leafage  thin  and  sear. 

Long  falls  the  shadow  at  his  back 
(The  morning  springs  before); 

His  thoughts  fly  down  the  shadow’d  track 
And  haunt  nis  cottage  door. 

Miles  gone,  upon  the  hilltop  bare 
He  draws  a  sudden  rein  ; 

His  name,  her  voice,  rings  on  the  air, 

Then  all  is  still  again  1 

She  sits  at  home,  she  speaks  no  word. 

But  deeply  calls  her  heart ; 

And  this  it  is  that  he  has  heard. 

Though  they  are  miles  apart. 

Edith  M.  Thomas 


BELIEVE  me,  if  all  those  endearing  young 
charms. 

Which  I  gaze  on  so  fondly  to-day. 

Were  to  change  by  to-morrow,  and  fleet  in  my 
arms. 

Like  fairy  gifts  fading  away. 

Thou  wouldst  still  be  adored,  as  this  moment  thou 
art. 

Let  thy  loveliness  fade  as  it  will. 

And  around  the  dear  ruin  each  wish  of  my  Heart 
Would  entwine  itself  verdantly  still. 

It  is  not  while  beauty  and  youth  are  thine  own. 
And  thy  cheeks  unprofaned  by  a  tear. 

That  the  fervor  and  faith  of  a  soul  can  be  known. 
To  which  time  will  but  make  thee  more  dear. 
No,  the  heart  that  has  truly  loved  never  forgets. 
But  as  truly  loves  on  to  the  close. 

As  the  sunflower  turns  on  her  god,  when  he  sets. 
The  same  look  which  she  turned  when  he  rose. 

Thomas  Moore 


NOT  as  all  other  women  may. 

Love  I  my  love  ;  he  is  so  great. 
So  beautiful,  I  dare  essay 
No  nearness,  but  in  silence  lay 
My  heart  upon  his  path  and  wait. 

Poor  heart,  its  beatings  are  so  low 
He  does  not  heed  them  passing  by. 
Save  as  one  heeds,  where  violets  grow, 
A  fragrance,  caring  not  to  know 

Where  the  veiled  purple  buds  may  lie. 

I  sometimes  think  that  it  is  dead — 

It  lies  so  still.  I  bend  and  lean. 

Like  mother  over  cradle  head. 
Wondering  if  still  faint  breaths  are  shed. 
Like  sighs  the  parted  lips  between. 

And  then  with  vivid  pulse  and  thrill, 

Jt  quickens  into  sudden  bliss. 

At  sound  of  step  or  voice,  nor  will 
Be  hushed,  although,  regardless  still. 

He  knows  not,  cares  not,  it  is  his. 


I  would  not  lift  it  if  I  could  : 

The  little  flame,  tho*  faint  and  dim 
As  glow-worm  spark  in  lonely  wood. 

Shining  where  no  man  calls  it  good. 

May  one  day  light  the  path  for  him. 

May  guide  his  way,  or  soon  or  late. 

Through  blinding  mist  or  wintry  rain. 

And  so  content  I  watch  and  wait — 

Let  others  share  his  happier  fate, 

I  only  ask  to  share  his  pain. 

And  if  some  day,  when  passing  by. 

My  dear  love  should  his  steps  arrest. 
Should  mark  the  poor  heart  waiting  nigh. 
Should  know  it  his,  should  lift  it,  why — 
Patience  is  good,  but  joy  is  best. 

Susan  Coolidge 


I  LOVED  thee  for  that  dear,  deep  Jovingness 
Resting  within  thy  tender,  brooding  eyes ; 

I  loved  thee  for  thy  wealth  of  womanhood. 

Thy  quiet  questionings,  thy  sweet  replies. 

Thy  patient  brows  that  knew  no  bitter  mood. 

George  Francis  Armstrong 


% 


[18] 


IN  Love,  if  Love  be  Love,  if  Love  be  ours. 
Faith  and  unfaith  can  ne’er  be  equal  powers: 
Unfaith  in  aught  is  want  of  faith  in  all. 

It  is  the  little  rift  within  the  lute 

That  by  and  by  will  make  the  music  mute. 

And,  ever  widening,  slowly  silence  all : 

The  little  rift  within  the  lover’s  lute. 

Or  little  pitted  speck  in  garner’d  fruit. 

That,  rotting  inward,  slowly  moulders  all. 

It  is  not  worth  the  keeping :  let  it  go ! 

But  shall  it  ?  Answer,  darling ;  answer.  No ; 

And  trust  me  not  at  all  or  all  in  all. 

Alfred ,  Lord  Tennyson 


C'9] 


LONG  years  within  its  sepulcher 
Of  faintly  scented  cedar. 

Has  lain  this  letter,  dear  to  her 
Who  was  its  constant  reader  ; 

The  postmark  on  the  envelope 
Sufficed  the  date  to  give  her. 

And  told  the  birth  of  patient  hope 
That  managed  to  outlive  her. 

How  often  to  this  treasure-box. 

Tears  in  her  eyes’  soft  fringes. 

She  came  with  key  and  turned  the  locks 
And  on  its  brazen  hinges 
Swung  back  the  quaintly  figured  lid. 
And  raised  a  sandal  cover. 

Disclosing,  under  trinkets  hid. 

This  message  from  her  lover. 

Then  lifting  it  as  ’twere  a  child. 

Her  hand  awhile  caressed  it 
Ere  to  the  lips  that  sadly  smiled 
Time  and  again  she  pressed  it ; 

Then  drew  the  small  inclosure  out 
And  smoothed  the  wrinkled  paper. 
Lest  any  line  should  leave  a  doubt 
Or  any  word  escape  her. 


Still  held  the  olden  charm  its  place 
Amid  the  tender  phrases. 

Time  seemed  unwilling  to  efface 
The  love-pervaded  praises; 

And  though  a  thousand  lovers  might 
Have  matched  them  all  for  passion, 

A  poet  were  inspired  to  write 
In  their  unstudied  fashion. 

From  “ Darling”  slowly,  word  by  word. 
She  reads  the  tear-stained  treasure  ; 

The  mists  by  which  her  eyes  were  blurred 
Grew  out  of  pain  and  pleasure  ; 

But  when  she  reached  that  cherished  name. 
And  saw  the  last  leave-taking. 

The  mist  a  storm  of  grief  became — 

Her  very  heart  was  breaking  ! 

I  put  it  back, — this  old-time  note 
Which  seems  like  sorrow’s  leaven. 

For  she  who  read  and  he  who  wrote. 

Please  God,  are  now  in  heaven. 

If  lovers  of  to-day  could  win 
Such  love  as  won  this  letter. 

The  world  about  us  would  begin 
To  gladden  and  grow  better. 

Frank  Dempster  Sherman 
[21  \ 


THE  violet  loves  a  sunny  bank. 

The  cowslip  loves  the  lea. 

The  scarlet  creeper  loves  the  elm ; 

But  I  love — thee. 

The  sunshine  kisses  mount  and  vale. 

The  stars,  they  kiss  the  sea. 

The  west  winds  kiss  the  clover  bloom. 

But  I  kiss — thee. 

The  oriole  weds  his  mottled  mate. 

The  lily’s  bride  o’  the  bee  ; 

Heaven’s  marriage  ring  is  round  the  earth — 
Shall  I  wed  thee? 

Bayard  Taylor 


r  22  3 


HAT  shall  I  do  for  my  love, 


Who  is  so  tender 


And  dear  and  true. 

Loving  and  true  and  tender. 

My  strength  and  my  defender — 
What  shall  I  do? 

I  will  cleave  unto  my  love, 

Who  am  too  lowly 
For  him  to  take. 

With  a  self-surrender  holy 
I  will  cleave  unto  him  solely, 

I  will  give  my  being  wholly 
For  his  dear  sake. 


Lewis  Morris 


[23] 


TWO  things  love  can  do. 

Only  two  ; 

Can  distrust  or  can  believe ; 

It  can  die  or  it  can  live. 

There  is  no  syncope 
Possible  to  love  or  me. 

Go  your  ways ! 

Two  things  you  can  do. 

Only  two; 

Be  the  thing  you  used  to  be. 

Or  be  nothing  more  to  me, 

I  can  but  joy  or  grieve. 

Can  no  more  die  than  live. 

Go  your  ways  ! 

So  far  I  wrote,  my  darling,  drearily. 

But  now  my  sad  pen  falls  down  wearily 
From  out  my  trembling  hand. 

I  did  not,  do  not,  cannot  mean  it.  Dear  ! 
Come  life  or  death,  joy,  grief,  or  hope  or  fear, 
I  bless  you  where  I  stand  ! 


t  24  ] 


I  bless  you  where  I  stand  excusing  you. 

No  speech  nor  language  for  accusing  you 
My  laggard  lips  can  learn. 

To  you — be  what  you  are,  or  can,  to  me- 
To  you  or  blessedly  or  fatefully 
My  heart  must  turn  ! 

Elizabeth  Stuart  Phelps 


MAXWELTON  braes  are  bonnie 
Where  early  fa’s  the  dew. 

And  it’s  there  that  Annie  Laurie 
Gie’d  me  her  promise  true,— 

Gie’d  me  her  promise  true. 

Which  ne’er  forgot  will  be; 

And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I’d  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Her  brow  is  like  the  snaw-drift ; 

Her  throat  is  like  the  swan ; 

Her  face  it  is  the  fairest 

That  e’er  the  sun  shone  on, — 
That  e’er  the  sun  shone  on, — 

And  dark  blue  is  her  ee; 

And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I’d  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

Like  dew  on  the  gowan  lying 
Is  the  fa’  o’  her  fairy  feet ; 

And  like  winds  in  summer  sighing 
Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet — 

Her  voice  is  low  and  sweet — 

And  she’s  a’  the  world  to  me  ; 

And  for  bonnie  Annie  Laurie 
I’d  lay  me  doune  and  dee. 

[26] 


Doug/as 


ARLING,”  he  said,  “I  never  meant 
I  J  To  hurt  you; 99  and  his  eyes  were  wet. 

“  I  would  not  hurt  you  for  the  world ; 

Am  I  to  blame  if  I  forget? 99 

“  Forgive  my  selfish  tears  ! 99  she  cried, 

“  Forgive  !  I  knew  that  it  was  not 
Because  you  meant  to  hurt  me,  sweet, — 

I  knew  it  was  that  you  forgot !  *  ’ 

But  all  the  same,  deep  in  her  heart 

Rankled  this  thought,  and  rankles  yet, — 
ft  When  love  is  at  its  best,  one  loves 
So  much  that  he  can  not  forget.” 

Helen  Hunt  Jackson 


HOM  we  first  love,  you  know,  we  seldom 


wed 


Time  rules  us  all.  And  life,  indeed,  is  not 
The  thing  we  planned  it  out  ere  hope  was  dead  ; 
And  then,  we  women  cannot  choose  our  lot. 

Much  must  be  borne  which  it  is  hard  to  bear; 

Much  given  away  which  it  were  sweet  to  keep. 
God  help  us  all  !  who  need,  indeed.  His  care. 

And  yet,  I  know,  the  Shepherd  loves  His  sheep. 

My  little  boy  begins  to  babble  now 

Upon  my  knee  his  earliest  infant  prayer. 

He  has  his  father’s  eager  eyes,  I  know. 

And  they  say,  too,  his  mother’s  sunny  hair. 

But  when  he  sleeps  and  smiles  upon  my  knee. 

And  I  can  feel  his  light  breath  come  and  go, 

I  think  of  one  (Heaven  help  and  pity  me  !) 

Who  loved  me,  and  whom  I  loved,  long  ago. 

Who  might  have  been — Ah,  what  I  dare  not  think  ! 

We  all  are  changed;  God  judges  for  us  best. 
God  help  us  do  our  duty  and  not  shrink. 

And  trust  in  Heaven  humbly  for  the  rest. 


[*»] 


But  blame  us  women  not  if  some  appear 

Too  cold  at  times,  and  some  too  gay  and  light. 
Some  griefs  gnaw  deep,  some  woes  are  hard  to  bear — 
Who  knows  the  past,  and  who  can  judge  us  right  ? 


Ah,  we  are  judged  by  what  we  might  have  been. 
And  not  by  what  we  are,  too  apt  to  fall ! 

My  little  child — he  sleeps  and  smiles  between 
Those  thoughts  and  me.  In  Heaven  we  shall 
know  all. 


Owen  Meredith 


t*9] 


WHAT  is  the  meaning  of  the  song 
That  rings  so  clear  and  loud. 

Thou  nightingale  amid  the  copse. 

Thou  lark  above  the  cloud? 

What  says  thy  song,  thou  joyous  thrush. 

Up  in  the  walnut  tree? 

,( I  love  my  Love  because  I  know 
My  Love  loves  me.” 

What  is  the  meaning  of  thy  thought, 

O  Maiden  fair  and  young  ? 

There  is  such  pleasure  in  thine  eyes. 

Such  music  on  thy  tongue; 

There  is  such  glory  on  thy  face — 

What  can  the  meaning  be? 

“I  love  my  Love  because  I  know 
My  Love  loves  me.” 

O,  happy  words !  At  Beauty’s  feet 
We  sing  them  ere  our  prime  ; 

And  when  the  early  summers  pass 
And  care  comes  on  with  time. 

Still  be  it  ours,  in  care’s  despite. 

To  join  the  chorus  free, 
love  my  Love  because  I  know 
My  Love  loves  me.” 

[  30  ]  Charles  Mack  ay 


OMY  heart’s  b^art  and  you  who  are  to  me 

More  than  myself  myself,  God  be  with  you. 
Keep  you  in  strong  obedience,  leal  and  true 
To  him  whose  noble  service  setteth  free. 

Give  you  all  good  we  see  or  can  foresee. 

Make  your  joys  many  and  your  sorrows  few. 
Bless  you  in  what  you  bear  and  what  you  do. 
Yea,  perfect  you  as  He  would  have  you  be. 

So  much  for  you  ;  but  what  for  me,  dear  friend  ? 
To  love  you  without  stint  and  all  I  can 

To-day,  to-morrow,  world  without  an  end: 

To  love  you  much,  and  yet  to  love  you  more. 
As  Jordan  at  its  flood  sweeps  either  shore  ; 

Since  woman  is  the  helpmeet  made  for  man. 

Christina  G .  Rossetti 


OH,  Love  is  weak 

Which  counts  the  answers  and  the  gains. 
Weighs  all  the  losses  and  the  pains. 

And  eagerly  each  fond  word  drains, 

A  joy  to  seek. 

When  Love  is  strong. 

It  never  tarries  to  take  heed. 

Or  know  if  its  return  exceed 

Its  gift ;  in  its  sweet  haste  no  greed. 

No  strifes  belong. 

It  hardly  asks 

If  it  be  loved  at  all ;  to  take 
So  barren  seems,  when  it  can  make 
Such  bliss  for  the  beloved  sake. 

Oh,  bitter  tasks  ! 

Its  ecstasy 

Could  find  hard  death  so  beauteous. 

It  sees  through  tears  how  Christ  loved  us. 

And  speaks,  in  saying,  “  I  love  thus,” 

No  blasphemy. 


[32] 


CALL  NO.  IF  RUSH  INDICATE  DATE  WANTED. 


So  much  we  miss 
If  Love  is  weak  ;  so  much  we  gain 
If  Love  is  strong  :  God  thinks  no  pain 
Too  sharp  or  lasting  to  ordain 
To  teach  us  this. 


Helen  Hunt  Jackson 


SHE  is  not  fair  to  outward  view 
As  many  maidens  be; 

Her  loveliness  I  never  knew 
Until  she  smiled  on  me  : 

O  then  I  saw  her  eye  was  bright, 

A  well  of  love,  a  spring  of  light! 

But  now  her  looks  are  coy  and  cold. 

To  mine  they  ne’er  reply; 

And  yet  I  cease  not  to  behold 
The  love-light  in  her  eye  : 

Her  very  frowns  are  fairer  far 
Than  smiles  of  other  maidens  are. 

Hartley  Coleridge 


L34] 


OH,  my  luve’s  like  a  red,  red  rose. 
That’s  newly  sprung  in  June  : 

Oh,  my  luve’s  like  the  melodie 
That’s  sweetly  played  in  tune. 

As  fair  art  thou,  my  bonnie  lass. 

So  deep  in  luve  am  I ; 

And  I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear. 

Till  a’  the  seas  gang  dry. 

Till  a’  the  seas  gang  dry,  my  dear. 

And  the  rocks  melt  in  the  sun, 

I  will  luve  thee  still,  my  dear. 

While  the  sands  o’  life  shall  run. 

And  fare  thee  weel,  my  only  luve ! 

And  fare  thee  weel  awhile ! 

And  I  will  come  again,  my  luve. 

Though  it  were  ten  thousand  mile. 

Robert  Burns 


1.35] 


I’D  give.  Girl,  (were  I  but  a  king). 

Throne,  scepter,  empire, — everything: 
My  people,  suppliant  on  the  knee  ; 

My  ships  that  crowd  the  subject  sea ; 

My  crown,  my  baths  of  porphyry. 

For  one  sweet  look  from  thee  ! 

Were  I  a  god.  I’d  give — the  air. 

Earth,  and  the  sea  ;  the  angels  fair  ; 

The  skies ;  the  golden  worlds  around  ; 

The  demons  whom  my  laws  have  bound  5 
Chaos  and  its  dark  progeny  ; 

All  space  and  all  eternity. 

For  one  love-kiss  from  thee  ! 


Vidor  Hugo 


C  37  1 


OLADY,  there  be  many  things 

That  seem  right  fair,  below,  above  ; 
But  sure  not  one  among  them  all 
Is  half  so  sweet  as  love. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 


MY  true-love  hath  my  heart  and  I  have  his. 
By  just  exchange  one  to  the  other  given; 

I  hold  his  dear,  and  mine  he  cannot  miss  : 

There  never  was  a  better  bargain  driven. 

My  true-love  hath  my  heart  and  I  have  his. 

His  heart  in  me  keeps  him  and  me  in  one. 

My  heart  in  him  his  thoughts  and  senses  guides ; 
He  loves  my  heart,  for  once  it  was  his  own, 

I  cherish  his  because  in  me  it  bides. 

My  true-love  hath  my  heart  and  I  have  his. 

Sir  Philip  Sidney 


C  39  ) 


THE  scent  of  a  blossom  from  Eden  ! 

The  flower  was  not  given  to  me. 

But  it  freshened  my  spirit  forever. 

As  it  passed,  on  its  way  to  thee  ! 

In  my  soul  is  a  lingering  music : 

The  song  was  not  meant  for  me. 

But  I  listen  and  listen,  and  wonder 
To  whom  it  can  lovelier  be. 

The  sounds  and  the  scents  that  float  by  us — - 
They  cannot  tell  whither  they  go ; 

Yet  however  it  fails  of  its  errand. 

Love  makes  the  world  sweeter,  I  know* 

I  know  that  love  never  is  wasted. 

Nor  truth,  nor  the  breath  of  a  prayer  ; 

And  the  thought  that  goes  forth  as  a  blessing 
Must  live,  as  a  joy  in  the  air. 

Lucy  Larcom 


[40] 


BETTER  to  have  the  love  of  one 
Than  smiles  like  morning  dew  ; 

Better  to  have  a  living  seed 
Than  flowers  of  every  hue. 

Better  to  feel  a  love  within 
Than  be  lovely  to  the  sight ; 

Better  a  homely  tenderness 
Than  beauty’s  wild  delight. 

Better  to  love  than  be  beloved. 

Though  lonely  all  the  day  ; 

Better  the  fountain  in  the  heart 
Than  the  fountain  by  the  way. 

Better  the  thanks  of  one  dear  heart 
Than  a  nation’s  voice  of  praise  ; 

Better  the  twilight  ere  the  dawn 
Than  yesterday’s  mid-blaze. 

Lfigb  Hunt 


[Ml 


IT  is  not  because  your  heart  is  mine — mine  only. 
Mine  alone. 

It  is  not  because  you  choose  me  weak  and  lonely 
For  your  own  ; 

Not  because  the  earth  is  fairer,  and  the  skies. 
Spread  above  you. 

Are  more  radiant  for  the  shining  of  your  eyes — 
That  I  love  you  ! 

Nay,  not  even  because  your  hand  holds  heart  and  life 
At  your  will. 

Soothing,  hushing  all  its  discord,  making  strife 
Calm  and  still ; 

Teaching  Trust  to  fold  her  wings,  nor  ever  roam 
From  her  nest; 

Teaching  Love  that  her  securest,  safest  home 
Must  be  rest. 

But  because  this  human  Love,  though  true  and 

Yours  and  mine —  [sweet — 

Has  been  sent  by  Love  more  tender,  more  complete. 
More  divine. 

That  it  leads  our  hearts  to  rest  at  last  in  Heaven, 
Far  above  you  ; 

Do  I  take  you  as  a  gift  that  God  has  given — 

And  I  love  you  ! 

Adelaide  Anne  Procter 


[42] 


LOVE  much.  Earth  has  enough  of  bitter  in  it; 

Cast  sweets  into  its  cup  whene’er  you  can. 
No  heart  so  hard  but  love  at  last  may  win  it. 

Love  is  the  grand  primeval  cause  of  man  ; 

All  hate  is  foreign  to  the  first  great  plan. 

Love  much.  Men’s  souls  contract  with  cold  suspicion; 

Shine  on  them  with  warm  love,  and  they  expand. 
’Tis  love,  not  creeds,  that  from  a  low  condition 
Leads  mankind  up  to  heights  supreme  and  grand. 
Oh,  that  the  world  would  see  and  understand ! 

Love  much.  There  is  no  waste  in  freely  giving; 

More  blessed  it  is,  even,  than  to  receive. 

He  who  loves  much,  alone  finds  life  worth  living  : 
Love  on  through  doubt  and  darkness,  and  believe 
There  is  no  thing  which  love  may  not  achieve. 

Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox 


[43] 


UYF  one  find  a  four-leaf  clover  n 
A  (She  said,  sitting  on  the  grass)., 

“He  can  wish  whate’er  he  likes  to, — 
And  that  wish  shall  come  to  pass.,? 

“Do  you  say  so  ?”  Then  down  kneeling 
’Mong  the  sorrel  and  cropt  grass. 

Looked  I  for  a  four-leaf  clover 
And  my  wish  to  come  to  pass. 

Long  I  searched  among  the  sorrel. 

Close  beside  me  she  searched  too  ; 

Now  and  then  some  commonplaces 
Broke  the  silence, — but  it  grew. 

For  my  heart  was  full  of  yearning. 

And  my  mouth  of  eager  words. 

But  I  dared  not  give  them  utterance, — 

So  I  hearkened  to  the  birds  ; 

And  kept  looking,  looking,  looking. 

While  beside  me  she  looked  too — 

Two  bent  figures  in  the  twilight. 

Green  hill?  paling  into  blue. 


‘ ‘  Ha,  I  have  one  ‘ ‘ Yes,  and  wished  for  ?  ’ 9 

“  You,  and  shall  it  be?”  I  cried. 

Eyes  cast  down  she  asked  demurely. 

Hath  the  clover  not  replied  ? 99 

George  Houghton 


[451 


WHEN  Spring  comes  laughing 
By  vale  and  hill. 

By  wind-flower  walking 
And  daffodil, — 

Sing  stars  of  morning. 

Sing  morning  skies. 

Sing  blue  of  speedwell 
And  my  Love’s  eyes l 

When  comes  the  Summer, 

Full  leaved  and  strong. 

And  gay  birds  gossip 
The  orchard  long, — 

Sing  hid,  sweet  honey 
That  no  bee  sips ; 

Sing  red,  red  roses 
And  my  Love’s  lips! 

When  Autumn  scatters 
The  leaves  again. 

And  piled  sheaves  bury 

The  broad-wheeled  wain, — 

Sing  flutes  of  harvest 
When  men  rejoice; 

Sing  round  of  reapers 
And  my  Love’s  voice! 

[+6J 


But  when  comes  Winter 
With  hail  and  storm. 
And  red  fire  roaring 
And  ingle  warm. 

Sing  first  sad  going 
Of  friends  that  part ; 
Then  sing  glad  meeting 
And  my  Love’s  heart! 


FIRST  time  he  kissed  me,  he  but  only  kissed  , 
The  fingers  of  this  hand  wherewith  1  write 
And  ever  since  it  grew  more  clean  and  white, — 
Slow  to  world-greetings, — quick  with  its 
“Oh,  list!” 

When  the  angels  speak.  A  ring  of  amethyst 
I  could  not  wear  here  plainer  to  my  sight 
Than  that  first  kiss.  The  second  passed  in  height 
The  first,  and  sought  the  forehead,  and  half  missed 
Half  falling  on  the  hair.  O  beyond  meed  ! 

That  was  the  chrism  of  love,  with  love’s  own  crown, 
With  sanctifying  sweetness,  did  precede. 

The  third  upon  my  lips  was  folded  down 
In  perfect,  purple  state  !  since  when,  indeed 
I  have  been  proud  and  said,  “  My  Love,  my  own. 9  9 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


AND  this  is  Love  !  until  this  hour 
I  never  lived  ;  but  like  a  flower 
Close  prest  i’  the  bud,  with  sleeping  senses, 

I  drank  the  dark  dim  influences 
Of  sunlight,  moonlight,  shade,  and  dew. 

At  last  I  open,  thrilling  thro’ 

With  Love’s  strange  scent,  which  seemeth  part 
Of  the  warm  life  within  my  heart. 

Part  of  the  air  I  breathe — O  bliss  ! 

Was  ever  night  so  sweet  as  this? 

It  is  enough  to  breathe,  to  be. 

As  if  one  were  a  flower,  a  tree; 

A  leaf  o’  the  bough,  just  stirring  light 
With  the  warm  breathing  of  the  night  ! 

Robert  Buchanan 


YES,  Love  indeed  is  light  from  Heaven, 

A  spark  of  that  immortal  fire 
With  angels  shared,  by  Allah  given. 

To  lift  from  earth  our  low  desire. 

Devotion  wafts  the  soul  above. 

But  Heaven  itself  descends  in  Love. 

A  feeling  from  the  Godhead  caught. 

To  wean  from  self  each  sordid  thought  ! 

A  ray  of  Him  who  formed  the  whole  ; 

A  glory  circling  round  the  soul  ! 

George  Gordon ,  Lord  Byron 


WHEN  the  tide  comes  in 

In  hearts,  at  once  the  hearts  begin 
Together  to  be  glad. 

What  the  tide  has  brought 

They  do  not  care,  they  have  not  sought. 

All  joy  they  ever  had 
The  new  joy  multiplies; 

All  pain  by  which  it  may  be  bought 
Seems  paltry  sacrifice. 

Helen  Hunt  Jackson 


ubrak* 

universe 


OF 


\U3«0» 


LOVE  is  come  with  a  song  and  a  smile. 
Welcome  Love  with  a  smile  and  a  song. 
Love  can  stay  but  a  little  while. 

Why  cannot  he  stay  ?  They  call  him  away  ; 

Ye  do  him  wrong,  ye  do  him  wrong; 

Love  will  stay  for  a  whole  life  long, 

Alfred  Tennyson 


WITH  my  love  this  knowledge  too  was 
given. 

Which  each  calm  day  doth  strengthen  more 
and  more. 

That  they  who  love  are  but  one  step  from  Heaven. 

James  Rus^ll  Lowell 


[53] 


DEAR  Lord,  let  me  recount  to  Thee 

Some  of  the  great  things  Thou  hast  done 
For  me,  even  me. 

Thy  little  one. 

It  was  not  that  I  cared  for  Thee — 

But  thou  didst  set  Thy  heart  upon 
Me,  even  me. 

Thy  little  one. 

And  therefore  was  it  sweet  to  Thee 
To  leave  Thy  majesty  and  throne. 

And  grow  like  me, 

A  little  one. 

*  *  *  *  £ 

Thou  lovedst  me  upon  the  Tree — 

Still  me,  hid  by  the  ponderous  stone — 

Me  always — me. 

Thy  little  one. 

And  love  of  me  arose  with  Thee 
When  death  and  hell  lay  overthrown  : 

Thou  lovedst  me. 

Thy  little  one. 


[5+] 


And  love  of  me  went  up  with  Thee 
To  sit  upon  Thy  Father’s  throne  i 
Thou  lovest  me. 

Thy  little  one. 

Lord,  as  Thou  me,  so  would  I  Thee 
Love  in  pure  love’s  communion. 

For  thou  lov’st  me. 

Thy  little  one. 

Christina  Georgina  Rossetti 


[55) 


DEAR  friend,  I  pray  thee,  if  thou  wouldst  be 
proving 

Thy  strong  regard  for  me. 

Make  me  no  vows.  Lip-service  is  not  loving  ; 
Let  thy  faith  speak  for  thee. 

Swear  not  to  me  that  nothing  can  divide  us. 

So  little  such  oaths  mean. 

But  when  distrust  and  envy  creep  beside  us. 

Let  them  not  come  between. 

Say  not  to  me  the  depths  of  thy  devotion 
Are  deeper  than  the  sea  ; 

But  watch,  lest  doubt  or  some  unkind  emotion 
Embitter  them  for  me. 

Vow  not  to  love  me  ever  and  forever. 

Words  are  such  idle  things. 

But  when  we  differ  in  opinions,  never 
Hurt  me  by  little  stings. 

I’m  sick  of  words,  they  are  so  lightly  spoken. 

And  spoken  are  but  air. 

I’d  rather  feel  thy  trust  in  me  unbroken 
Than  list  to  thy  words  so  fair. 


[56] 


If  all  the  little  proofs  of  trust  are  heeded. 
If  thou  art  always  kind. 

No  sacrifice,  no  promise  will  be  needed 
To  satisfy  my  mind. 


Ella  Wheeler  Wilcox 


THEN,  in  that  time  and  place,  I  spoke  to  he 
Requiring,  tho’  I  knew  it  was  mine  own. 
Yet  for  the  pleasure  that  I  took  to  hear. 

Requiring  at  her  hand  the  greatest  gift, 

A  woman’s  heart,  the  heart  of  her  I  loved  ; 

And  in  that  time  and  place  she  answered  me 

And  in  the  compass  of  three  little  words. 

More  musical  than  ever  came  in  one. 

The  silver  fragments  of  a  broken  voice. 

Made  me  most  happy,  faltering  “1  am  thine.” 

Alfred  Tennyson 


[5*1 


IT  was  Maytime, 

And  I  was  walking  with  the  man  I  loved, — 
I  loved  him,  but  I  thought  I  was  not  loved  ; 

And  both  were  silent,  letting  the  wild  brook 
Speak  for  us,  till  he  stoop’d  and  gathered  one 
From  out  a  bed  of  thick  forget-me-nots. 

Look’d  hard  and  sweet  at  me  and  gave  it  me. 

I  took  it,  tho’  I  did  not  know  I  took  it, 

And  put  it  in  my  bosom,  and  all  at  once 
I  felt  his  arm  about  me,  and  his  lips. 

Alfred  Tennyson 


[59  j 


I  LOVE  you.  Words  are  small ; 

’Tis  life  speaks  plain  :  In  twenty  years 
Perhaps  you  may  know  all. 

Dina  Maria  Muioch  Craik 


[6°] 


LIFE  may  to  you  bring  every  good 

Which  from  a  father’s  hand  can  fall: 

But  if  true  lips  have  said  to  me, 

“ I  love  you,”  I  have  known  it  all ! 

Phcebe  Cary 


LEARN  that  to  love  is  the  one  way  to  know 
Or  God  or  man :  it  is  not  love  received 
That  maketh  man  to  know  the  inner  life 
Of  them  that  love  him  ;  his  own  love  bestowed 
Shall  do  it. 


Jean  Ingelozo 


THERE  will  I  ask  of  Christ  the  Lord 
Thus  much  for  him  and  me, — 

Only  to  live  as  once  on  earth 
With  Love, — only  to  be. 

As  then  awhile,  forever  now 
Together,  I  and  he. 

Dante  Gabriel  Rossetti 


TYING  her  bonnet  under  her  chin 
She  tied  her  raven  ringlets  in  ; 

But  not  alone  in  the  silken  snare 
Did  she  catch  her  lovely  floating  hair. 

For,  tying  her  bonnet  under  her  chin, 

She  tied  a  young  man’s  heart  within. 

They  were  strolling  together  up  the  hill. 
Where  the  wind  comes  blowing  merry  and  chill 
And  it  blew  the  curls  a  frolicsome  race 
All  over  the  happy  peach-colored  face. 

Till,  scolding  and  laughing,  she  tied  them  in* 
Under  her  beautiful  dimpled  chin. 

And  it  blew  a  color,  bright  as  the  bloom 
Of  the  pinkest  fuchsia’s  tossing  plume. 

All  over  the  cheeks  of  the  prettiest  girl. 

That  ever  imprisoned  a  romping  curl. 

Or,  tying  her  bonnet  under  her  chin. 

Tied  a  young  man’s  heart  within. 

Steeper  and  steeper  grew  the  hill  ; 

Madder,  merrier,  chillier,  still 

The  western  wind  blew  down  and  played 

The  wildest  tricks  with  the  little  maid. 


As,  tying  her  bonnet  under  her  chin. 

She  tied  a  young  man’s  heart  within. 

O  western  wind,  do  you  think  it  was  fair 
To  play  such  tricks  with  the  floating  hair? 

To  gladly,  gleefully  do  your  best 

To  bl*ow  her  against  the  young  man’s  breast, 

Where  he  as  gladly  folded  her  in. 

And  kissed  her  mouth  and  dimpled  chin-? 

Ah  !  Ellery  Vane,  you  little  thought 
An  hour  ago,  when  you  besought 
This  country  lass  to  walk  with  you. 

After  the  sun  had  dried  the  dew. 

What  perilous  danger  you’d  be  in 
As  she  tied  her  bonnet  under  her  chin. 

Nora  Perry 


THEIR  little  language  the  children 
Have,  on  the  knee  as  they  sit ; 

And  only  those  who  love  them 
Can  find  the  key  to  it. 

The  words  thereof  and  the  grammar 
Perplex  the  logician’s  art; 

But  the  heart  goes  straight  with  the  meaning. 
And  the  meaning  is  clear  to  the  heart. 

So  thou,  my  Love,  hast  a  language 
That  in  little  says  all  to  me  ; — 

But  the  world  cannot  guess  the  sweetness 
Which  is  hidden  with  love  and  thee. 

Francis  Turner  Palgrave 


[67] 


FOR  there  are  two  heavens,  sweet. 

Both  made  of  love, — one,  inconceivable 
Ev’n  by  the  other,  so  divine  it  is  ; 

The  other,  far  on  this  side  of  the  stars. 

By  men  called  home. 

Leigh  Hunt 


[68] 


STAY,  stay  at  home,  my  heart,  and  rest ; 
Home-keeping  hearts  are  happiest. 

For  those  that  wander  they  know  not  where. 
Are  full  of  trouble,  and  full  of  care; 

To  stay  at  home  is  best. 

Weary  and  homesick  and  distressed. 

They  wander  east,  they  wander  west. 

And  are  baffled  and  beaten  and  blown  about 
By  the  winds  of  the  wilderness  of  doubt ; 

To  stay  at  home  is  best. 

Then  stay  at  home,  my  heart,  ana  rest; 

The  bird  is  safest  in  its  nest; 

O’er  all  that  flutter  their  wings  and  fly 
A  hawk  is  hovering  in  the  sky  ; 

To  stay  at  home  is  best. 

Henry  Wadsworth  Longfellow 


WHERE  we  love  is  home. 

Home  that  our  feet  may  leave,  but  not 
our  hearts. 

Though  o’er  us  shines  the  jasper  lighted  dome  : — 
The  chain  may  lengthen,  but  it  never  parts  ! 


Oliver  Wendell  Holmes 


[70] 


AS  thro’  the  land  at  eve  we  went 
And  pluck7 d  the  ripen’d  ears. 

We  fell  out,  my  wite  and  I, 

Oh,  we  fell  out,  I  know  not  why. 

And  kiss’d  again  with  tears. 

For  when  we  came  where  lies  the  child 
We  lost  in  other  years. 

There  above  the  little  grave. 

Oh,  there  above  the  little  grave. 

We  kiss’d  again  with  tears. 

Alfred  Tennyson 


A  GOOD  wife  rose  from  her  bed  one  morn. 
And  thought,  with  a  nervous  dread. 

Of  the  piles  of  clothes  to  be  washed,  and  more 
Than  a  dozen  mouths  to  be  fed. 

There’s  the  meals  to  get  for  the  men  in  the  field  ; 

And  the  children  to  fix  away 
To  school;  and  the  milk  to  be  skimmed  and  churned: 
And  all  to  be  done  this  day. 

It  had  rained  in  the  night,  and  all  the  wood 
Was  wet  as  it  could  be; 

There  were  puddings  and  pies  to  bake,  besides 
A  loaf  of  cake  for  tea. 

And  the  day  was  hot,  and  her  aching  brow 
Throbbed  wearily  as  she  said  : 

“If  maidens  but  knew  what  good  wives  know. 
They  would  be  in  no  haste  to  wed  !” 

“Jennie,  what  do  you  think  I  told  Ben  Brown ?” 

Called  the  farmer  from  the  well ; 

And  a  flush  crept  up  to  his  bronzed  brow. 

And  his  eyes  half-bashfully  fell. 

“It  was  this,”  he  said,  and,  coming  near. 

He  smiled,  and,  stooping  down. 


Kissed  her  cheek — “’Twas  this  :  That  you  were 
the  best 

And  the  dearest  wife  in  town  !” 

The  farmer  went  back  to  the  field,  and  the  wife. 
In  a  smiling  and  absent  way. 

Sang  snatches  of  tender  little  songs 
She’d  not  sung  for  many  a  day. 

And  the  pain  in  her  head  was  gone,  and  the  clothes 
Were  white  as  the  foam  of  the  sea; 

Her  bread  was  light,  and  her  butter  was  sweet. 
And  as  golden  as  it  could  be. 

“Just  think,”  the  children  all  called  in  a  breath — 
“Tom  Wood  has  run  off*  to  sea  ! 

“He  wouldn’t  we  know,  if  he  only  had  had 
As  happy  a  home  as  we.” 

The  night  came  down,  and  the  good-wife  smiled 
To  herself,  as  she  softly  said  : 

“’Tis  so  sweet  to  labor  for  those  we  love. 

It’s  no  wonder  that  maids  will  wed  !” 

Thomas  Burnett 


[73] 


TWO  birds  within  one  nest ; 

Two  hearts  within  one  breast; 
Two  spirits  in  one  fair. 

Firm  league  of  love  and  prayer. 
Together  bound  for  aye,  together  blest. 
An  ear  that  waits  to  catch 
A  hand  upon  the  latch, 

A  step  that  hastens  its  sweet  rest  to  win  ; 
A  world  of  care  without, 

A  world  of  strife  shut  out, 

A  world  of  love  shut  in. 


Dora  Greenwell 


HE  took  in  both  hands  her  lovely  head. 

And  looked  in  her  eyes  serene. 

Many  years  married,  but  still  as  fond 
As  the  foolish  boy  had  been. 

And  “O  my  dear,”  said  he,  “and  my  love. 

My  dear  sweet  love  and  my  wife. 

If  every  kiss  were  a  golden  coin. 

You  would  be  rich  for  life. 

<<  Nay,  if  of  every  kiss  I  have  given 
Each  were  but  a  single  penny. 

You  would  be  rich  with  riches  to  spare — 

Sweet  wife,  think  how  many,  how  many  !  ” 

“Yea,  truly,”  she  said,  “yet  I’d  not  barter  one 
While  I  bind  up  my  sheaves  of  caresses  ; 

But  there’s  many,  oh,  many  a  poor  rich  wife 
Who  would  give  all  of  her  gold  for  the  kisses.” 

James  F.  Blake 


I  DREW  her  head 

Down  to  my  cheek,  and  said  :  “My  angel  wife ! 
Whatever  torment  or  disquietude 
I  may  have  suffered,  you  have  never  been 
Its  cause  or  its  occasion.  You  are  all — 

You  have  been  all — that  womanhood  can  be 
To  manhood’s  want ;  and  in  your  woman’s  love 
And  woman’s  pain,  I  have  found  every  good 
My  life  has  known  since  first  our  lives  were  joined.  ” 
Josiab  Gilbert  Holland 


From  ‘‘Katrina,**  by  permission.  Copyrighted  by  Charles 
Scribner’s  Sons. 


[77] 


STILL  on  the  lips  of  all  we  question 
The  finger  of  God’s  silence  lies; 

Will  the  lost  hands  in  ours  be  folded  ? 

Will  the  shut  eyelids  ever  rise  ? 

O  friend,  no  proof  beyond  this  yearning. 

This  outreach  of  our  hearts  we  need ; 

God  will  not  mock  the  hope  He  giveth ; 

No  love  He  prompts  shall  vainly  plead. 

Then  let  us  stretch  our  hands  in  darkness. 

And  call  our  loved  ones  o’er  and  o’er  ; 

Some  day  their  arms  shall  close  about  us. 

And  the  old  voices  speak  once  more, 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


[78] 


THOUGH  cruel  fate  should  bid  us  part. 
Far  as  the  pole  and  line. 

Her  dear  idea  round  my  heart 
Should  tenderly  entwine. 

Though  mountains  rise,  and  deserts  howl. 

And  oceans  roar  between. 

Yet,  dearer  than  my  deathless  soul, 

I  still  would  love  my  Jean. 

Robert  Burns 


[79! 


AH  well,  shall  I  wonder  you  left  me  ! 

That  world  is  “a  rest:  99 
For  so  it  is  written  :  but  this  one 
A  battle  at  best. 

Where  the  victors  have  scant  time  for  wearing 
The  green  laurel  crown. 

And  the  vanquished  go  down  like  the  dry  leaves. 
When  woodlands  are  brown. 

You  were  young,  you  were  gentle,  you  waited 
With  sorrowful  eyes. 

As  vanished  in  fleeting  succession 
Rich  prize  after  prize; 

Till  at  last  your  small  hands  were  left  empty. 
And,  tired  of  the  strife. 

You  turned  to  the  Master  :  He  led  you 
Away  into  life. 

It  is  long  since  I  saw  you :  I  weary 
And  thirst  ev’ry  day ; 

Ev’ry  day,  ev’ry  hour  I  ponder. 

All  wistful,  the  way 

That  leads  to  the  kingdom  you  dwell  in. 

You  trod  it  full  fast ; 

But  I  caught — was  it  only  a  fancy  ? — 

One  sigh  as  you  passed. 

[80] 


Shall  I  meet  you  some  day  with  the  angels— 
Your  beauty  all  new? 

Will  your  soft  eyes  look  on  me  so  fondly? 

As  they  used  to  do. 

When  you  gathered  my  head  to  your  bosom 
With  tender  caress. 

And  my  lips  with  a  sweet  touch  of  welcome 
You  bent  down  to  press. 

I  hope  for  such  meeting — I  lost  you, 
i  So  much  left  untold  ! 

But  perhaps  even  now  you  know  all  things — 
The  new  and  the  old  : 

Perhaps  even  now  you  are  nearer 
Than  ever  before. 

And  you  smile  as  you  watch  me  come  to  you — 
A  lost  love  no  more  ! 

Alfred  Norris 


[»■] 


SHE  dwelt  among  th’  untrodden  ways. 
Beside  the  Springs  of  Dove  ; 

A  maid  whom  there  were  few  to  praise. 
And  very  few  to  love  : 

A  violet  by  a  mossy  stone, 

Half  hidden  from  the  eye  ! 

Fair  as  a  star,  when  only  one 
Is  shining  in  the  sky. 

She  lived  unknown,  and  few  could  know 
When  Lucy  ceased  to  be  ; 

But  she  is  in  her  grave,  and  O 
The  difference  to  me  ! 


William  Wordsworth 


YET  love  will  dream  and  faith  will  trust 

(Since  He  who  knows  our  need  is  just). 
That  somehow,  somewhere  meet  we  must. 

Alas  for  him  who  never  sees 

The  stars  shine  through  his  cypress  trees  ! 

Who  hopeless  lays  his  dead  away. 

Nor  looks  to  see  the  breaking  day 
Across  the  mournful  marbles  play  ! 

Who  hath  not  learned  in  hours  of  faith. 

The  truth  to  flesh  and  sense  unknown. 

That  Life  is  ever  lord  of  Death 
And  Love  can  never  lose  its  own  ! 

John  Greenleaf  Whittier 


TO 


JUST  a  sprig  of  Scottish  heather,  in  a  letter 
where  the  tears. 

Which  have  blotted  words  together,  have  been 
dried  these  many  years. 

Loving  lines,  yet  sadly  cheerful, — how  “  ’twas 
lonesome  here  to-day,’ ’ 

Then  a  pause,  a  little  tearful,  “  Dear,  you  are  so 
far  away  !  ” 

Every  sentence  has  its  token  of  a  love  that  could 
not  fail 

Throbbing  with  a  faith  unspoken,  though  the  ink 
is  growing  pale  ; 

Faded  are  the  lines  dim-lettered  like  sad  ghosts 
upon  the  page  ; 

Ah,  that  poor  love  should  be  fettered  with  the 
rusty  iron  of  age  !  A 

Then  that  line,  “I  picked  the  heather  from  that 
spot,  dear,  you  will  know. 

Where  we  walked  and  talked  together, — oh,  it 
seems  so  long  ago  !  ” 

And  at  last,  “Love  how  much  better  it  will  be 
when,  by-and-by. 

We’ll  not  need  to  write  a  letter  to  each  other,  you 
and  I  !” 


[H] 


God  !  with  what  another  meaning  that  one  line  has 
long  been  true. 

With  Death’s  silence  intervening  since  I  last  have 
heard  from  you. 

When  you  dropped  Life’s  weary  fetters,  when  you 
went  so  far  away, — 

Thought  you  of  unwritten  letters  I  was  missing 
from  that  day? 

If  you  know  how  I  have  needed  some  new  token 
through  the  years 

You  have  slept  away  unheeded,  it  must  move  your 
soul  to  tears. 

If  you  still  know  how  I  love  you,  how  I’ve  missed 
you  day  by  day. 

Since  the  heather  grew  above  you,  you  could  never 
stay  away. 

Take  all  treasures.  Time,  I  cherish.  Fame  and 
Hope  and  Life  at  last. 

Flitting  things  which  needs  must  perish, — spare  this 
memory  of  the  Past 

Lying  with  a  sprig  of  heather,  in  a  letter  where 
the  tears. 

Which  have  blotted  words  together,  have  been 
dried  these  many  years. 

[  85  ]  Marion  Manville 


HOW  still  she  was.  She  only  knew 
His  love.  She  saw  no  life  beyond. 

She  loved  with  love  that  only  lives 
Outside  itself  and  selfishness, — 

A  love  that  glows  in  its  excess; 

A  love  that  melts  pure  gold,  and  gives 
Thenceforth  to  all  who  come  to  woo 
No  coins  but  this  face  stamped  thereon,— 

Ay,  this  one  image  stamped  upon 
Its  face,  with  some  dim  date  long  gone. 

Joaquin  Miller 


C86] 


BUT  oh  !  ’twas  hard  to  have  him  go, — to  know 
Day  after  day  must  pass  without  one  sight 
Of  him  who  was  so  dear,  so  dear!  to  pine. 

And  sigh,  and  long  for  one  hand-clasp  ;  one  sound 
Of  that  soft,  pleasant  voice,  to  me  so  sweet ; 

One  glance  of  those  dear  eyes  I  loved  to  meet. 

Celia  E.  Gardiner 


THERE,  little  girl,  don’t  cry  ! 

They  have  broken  your  doll,  I  know; 

And  your  tea-set  blue. 

And  your  play-house,  too. 

Are  things  of  the  long  ago  ; 

But  childish  troubles  will  soon  pass  by — 

There,  little  girl,  don’t  cry  ! 

There,  little  girl,  don’t  cry  ! 

They  have  broken  your  slate,  I  know; 

And  the  glad,  wild  ways 
Of  your  school-girl  days 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago  ; 

But  life  and  love  will  soon  come  by — 

There,  little  girl,  don’t  cry  ! 

There,  little  girl,  don’t  cry  ! 

They  have  broken  your  heart,  I  know  ; 

And  the  rainbow  gleams 
Of  your  youthful  dreams 
Are  things  of  the  long  ago; 

But  heaven  holds  all  for  which  you  sigh — > 
There,  little  girl,  don’t  cry ! 

James  Whitcomb  Riley 

From  “Afterwhiles,”  By  permission  of  Bowen-Merrill 
Company. 

f  88  1 


LOVE  not  !  love  not  !  Ye  hapless  sons  of  clay : 
Hope’s  gayest  wreaths  are  made  of  earthly 
flowers ; 

Things  that  are  made  to  fade  and  fall  away. 

Ere  they  have  blossomed  for  a  few  short  hours. 

Love  not  !  love  not !  the  thing  you  love  may  change. 
The  rosy  lips  may  cease  to  smile  on  you. 

The  kindly  beaming  eyes  grow  cold  and  strange. 
The  heart  still  warmly  beat,  yet  not  be  true. 

Love  not  !  love  not  !  the  thing  you  love  may  die. 
May  perish  from  the  gay  and  gladsome  earth  : 
The  silent  stars,  the  blue  and  smiling  sky. 

Beam  on  its  grave,  as  once  upon  its  birth. 

Love  not !  love  not  !  O  warning  vainly  said 
In  present  hours,  as  in  the  years  gone  by  : 

Love  flings  a  halo  round  the  dear  one’s  head — 
Faultless  !  Immortal !  till  they  change  or  die. 

Caroline  Norton 


[89] 


THOU  ling’ring  star,  with  less’ning  ray. 
That  lov’st  to  greet  the  early  morn. 
Again  thou  usherest  in  the  day 

My  Mary  from  my  soul  was  torn. 

O  Mary,  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest? 

See’ st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear’st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast  ? 

That  sacred  hour  can  I  forget  ? 

Can  I  forget  that  hallowed  grove. 

Where  by  the  winding  Ayr  we  met. 

To  live  one  day  of  parting  love ! 

Eternity  can  not  efface 

Those  records  dear  of  transports  past ; 

Thine  image  at  our  last  embrace — 

Ah,  little  thought  we  *twas  our  last  ! 

Ayr,  gurgling,  kissed  his  pebbled  shore, 

O’erhung  with  wild  woods,  thick’ning  green 
The  fragrant  birch,  and  hawthorn  hoar. 

Twined  am’rous  round  the  raptured  scene  ; 
The  flowers  sprang  wanton  to  be  prest. 

The  birds  sang  love  on  ev’ry  spray — 

Till  soon,  too  soon,  the  glowing  west 
Proclaimed  the  speed  of  winged  day. 

[90] 


Still  o’er  these  scenes  my  memory  wakes. 

And  fondly  broods  with  miser  care  ; 

Time  but  th’  impression  stronger  makes. 

As  streams  their  channels  deeper  wear. 

My  Mary  !  dear  departed  shade  ! 

Where  is  thy  place  of  blissful  rest  ? 

See’ st  thou  thy  lover  lowly  laid  ? 

Hear’ st  thou  the  groans  that  rend  his  breast? 

Robert  Burnt 


TW O  shall  be  born  the  whole  wide  world  apart. 
And  speak  in  different  tongues  and  have  no 
thought 

Each  of  the  other’s  being,  and  no  heed  ; 

Yet  these  o’er  unknown  seas  to  unknown  lands 
Shall  cross  ;  escaping  wreck,  defying  death. 

And  all  unconsciously  shape  every  act 
And  bend  each  wandering  step  unto  this  end. 

That  one  day  out  of  darkness  they  shall  meet. 

And  read  life’s  meaning  in  each  other’s  eyes. 

And  two  shall  walk  some  narrow  way  of  life 
So  closely  side  by  side  that  should  one  turn 
Ever  so  little  space  to  left  or  right. 

They  needs  must  stand  acknowledged  face  to  face; 
Yet  these  with  groping  hands  that  never  clasp. 
With  wistful  eyes  that  never  meet,  and  lips 
Calling  in  vain  on  ears  that  never  hear. 

Shall  wander  all  their  weary  days  unknown. 

And  die  unsatisfied.  And  this  is  Fate  ! 

Susan  Marr  Spaulding 


[90 


IF  now  you  saw  me  you  would  say  : 

Where  is  the  face  I  used  to  love  ? 

And  I  would  answer  :  Gone  before  ; 

It  tarries  veiled  in  Paradise. 

When  once  the  Morning  Star  shall  rise. 
When  earth  with  shadow  flees  away. 

And  we  stand  safe  within  the  door. 

Then  you  shall  lift  the  veil  thereof. 

Look  up,  rise  up  ;  for  far  above 
Our  palms  are  grown,  our  place  is  set ; 

There  we  shall  meet  as  once  we  met. 

And  love  with  old  familiar  love. 

Christina  Georgina  Rossetti 


I  CLASSED,  appraising  once. 

Earth’s  lamentable  sounds :  the  “  well-a-day/' 
The  jarring  “Yea”  and  “Nay,” 

The  fall  of  kisses  on  unanswering  clay. 

The  sobbed  “farewell,”  the  “welcome”  mourn* 
But  all  did  leaven  the  air  [fuller — • 

With  a  less  bitter  leaven  of  sure  despair. 

Than  these  words — “I  loved  once.” 

And  who  saith,  “I  loved  once?  ” 

Not  angels,  whose  clear  eyes  love,  love  foresee 
Love  through  Eternity  ! 

Who,  by  “to  love,”  do  apprehend  “to  be.” 

Not  God,  called  Love,  His  noble  crown-name — 
A  light  too  broad  for  blasting  !  [casting 

The  Great  God,  changing  not  from  everlasting, 
Saith  never,  “I  loved  once  !” 

Oh,  never  is  “Loved  once’5 
Thy  word.  Thou  Victim-Christ,  misprized  Friend! 

Thy  cross  and  curse  may  rend  ; 

But,  having  loved.  Thou  lovest  to  the  end  ! 

It  is  man’s  saying — man’s  !  Too  weak  to  move 
One  sphered  star  above, 

Man  desecrates  the  eternal  God-word,  Love, 

With  his  “no  more,”  and  “once.” 

[<M] 


*  *  * 

Say  never,  ye  loved  once  ! 

God  is  too  near  above,  the  grave  beneath. 

And  all  our  moments  breathe 
Too  quick  in  mysteries  of  life  and  death. 

For  such  a  word.  The  eternities  avenge 
Affections  light  of  range — 

There  comes  no  change  to  justify  that  change. 
Whatever  comes — “loved  once  !” 

Elizabeth  Barrett  Browning 


OLOVE  !  thou  makest  all  things  even 
In  earth  or  heaven  ; 

Finding  thy  way  through  prison  bars 
Up  to  the  stars ; 

Or,  true  to  the  Almighty  plan. 

That  out  of  dust  created  man. 

Thou  lookest  in  a  grave — to  see 
Thine  immortality  ! 


Sarah  Flower  Adam 


TELL  me,  my  wishing  soul,  dids’t  thou  e’er  try 
Howfastthe  wings  ofred -crossed  Lovecan fly? 
Why  beg’st  thou,  then,  the  pinions  of  a  dove? 
Faith’s  wings  are  swifter  ;  but  the  swiftest.  Love! 

Anon 


197] 


THE  cords  of  love  must  be  strong  as  death 
Which  hold  and  keep  a  heart. 

Not  daisy-chains,  that  snap  in  the  breeze, 

Or  break  with  their  weight  apart. 


Phcebe  Cary 


Andtheir  Happiness  has  Heightened 
Though  their  Hair  is  GrowingGray 


C  99  3 


THEY  were  young  and  glad  together 
In  the  dawn  of  life’s  first  May, 

When  in  bright  and  sunny  weather 
Sang  the  birds  from  every  spray. 

Clear  the  heaven  shone  out  above  them ; 

Blue  and  radiant  were  the  skies  ; 

All  things  living  seemed  to  love  them  ; 

And  the  spring  gleamed  in  her  eyes. 

Through  life’s  summer  still  together. 

Hand  in  hand  and  heart  to  heart. 

They  have  borne  the  sultry  weather 
And  have  watched  the  days  depart. 

Still  she  is  to  him  the  maiden 
Who  stepped  daintily  of  old 
Through  the  grass,  her  apron  laden 
With  bright  buttercups  of  gold. 

Still  together,  still  together. 

They  will  face  life’s  autumn  hours  ; 

In  the  grim  November  weather 

Love  will  strew  their  path  with  flowers. 

For  their  love  has  ever  brightened 
Since  the  first  long  loving  day. 

And  their  happiness  has  heightened. 

Though  their  hair  is  growing  gray  ! 

[  ioo  ]  George  Barlow 


THY  voice  is  near  me  in  my  dreams ; 

In  accents  sweet  and  low. 

Telling  of  happiness  and  Jove 
In  days  long,  long  ago. 

Word  after  word  I  think  I  hear. 

Yet  strange  it  seems  to  me 
That,  though  I  listen  to  thy  voice. 

Thy  face  I  never  see. 

From  night  to  night  my  weary  heart 
Lives  on  the  treasured  past. 

And  ev’ry  day  I  fondly  say. 

He’ll  come  to  me  at  last. 

Yet  still  I  weep,  and  watch,  and  pray, 

As  time  rolls  slowly  on  ; 

\nd  yet  I  have  no  hope  but  thee. 

Thou  first,  thou  dearest  one. 

M.  Lindsay 


I>‘3 


DO  you  remember  when  you  heard 

My  lips  breathe  love’s  first  faltering  word  ? 
You  do,  sweet — don’t  you  ? 

When,  having  wandered  all  the  day. 

Linked  arm  in  arm  I  dared  to  say. 

You’ll  love  me — won’t  you  ? 

And  when  you  blushed,  and  could  not  speak, 

I  fondly  kissed  your  glowing  cheek  ; 

Did  that  affront  you? 

Oh,  surely  not;  your  eye  exprest 
No  wrath,  but  said,  perhaps  in  jest. 

You’ll  love  me — won’t  you? 

I’m  sure  my  eyes  replied,  “I  will;” 

And  you  believe  that  promise  still ; 

You  do,  sweet — don’t  you? 

Yes,  yes,  when  age  has  made  our  eyes 
Unfit  for  questions  or  replies. 

You’ll  love  me — won’t  you  ? 

Thomas  Haynes  Bayly 


[  102  ] 


OH,  lay  thy  hand  in  mine,  dear  ! 

We’re  growing  old  ; 

But  time  hath  brought  no  sign,  dear. 

That  hearts  grow  cold. 

’Tis  long,  long  since  our  new  love 
Made  life  divine. 

But  age  enricheth  true  love 
Like  noble  wine. 

And  lay  thy  cheek  to  mine,  dear. 

And  take  thy  rest; 

Mine  arms  around  thee  twine,  dear, 

And  make  thy  nest. 

A-many  cares  are  pressing 
On  this  dear  head. 

But  sorrow’s  hands  in  blessing 
Are  surely  laid. 

Oh,  lean  thy  life  on  mine,  dear, 

’Twill  shelter  thee ! 

Thou  wert  a  winsome  vine,  dear. 

On  my  young  tree. 

And  so,  till  boughs  are  leafless 
And  birds  are  flown. 

We’ll  twine,  then  lay  us,  griefless. 

Together  down. 

[  103  J  Gerald  Massey 


THEY  sin  who  tell  us  Love  can  die : 

With  life  all  other  passions  fly. 

All  others  are  but  vanity. 

In  Heaven  ambition  cannot  dwell. 

Nor  avarice  in  the  vaults  of  Hell : 

Earthly  these  passions  ;  as  of  Earth, 

They  perish  where  they  have  their  birth. 

But  Love  is  indestructible  ; 

Its  holy  flame  forever  burneth  ; 

From  Heaven  it  came — to  Heaven  returneth. 
Too  oft  on  Earth  a  troubled  guest. 

At  times  deceived,  at  times  opprest. 

It  here  is  tried  and  purified. 

And  hath  in  Heaven  its  perfect  rest. 

It  soweth  here  with  toil  and  care. 

But  the  harvest-time  of  Love  is  there . 

Robert  Southey 


[  104  ] 


THEY  sin  who  tell  us  Love  can  die; 

They  err  who  tell  us  Love  is  blind : 

Within  each  orb  doth  sleepless  lie 
A  watcher  from  the  soul  behind. 

When  Love  was  left  on  this  earth  so  cold. 

So  far  from  her  native  skies, 

God  gave  her  the  lamp  of  love  to  hold. 

And  lighted  her  starlike  eyes. 

And  she  can  see  where  the  world  sees  not. 

And  she  can  go  where  none  other  may  ; 

If  I  were  through  dark  Hades  brought. 

I’d  still  ask  Love  to  lead  the  way. 

Tender  and  true  is  the  light  of  her  eyes. 

As  she  looks  me  through  and  through  ; 

In  knowing,  and  loving  silence,  wise. 

Yet  fond  as  no  fault  she  knew. 

Like  the  keen-vision’ d  eagle,  the  tender-eyed  dove. 
So  sees  the  guardian  angel.  Love. 

She  spreads  her  mantle  o’er  ev’ry  sin, 

But  Lo^e  will  have  all  pure  within. 

John  Mason 


05] 


r  >07] 


GOD  keep  you,  dearest,  all  this  long  dark  night; 
The  winds  are  still. 

The  moon  drops  down  behind  the  western  hill, 
God  keep  you  safely,  dearest,  till  the  light, 

God  keep  you  still  when  slumber  fades  away ; 

For  care  and  strife 

Take  up  new  arms  to  fret  our  waking  life: 

God  keep  you  thro’  the  battle  of  the  day. 

God  keep  you  !  This,  dear  love,  is  all  the  strain 
Of  every  prayer. 

I  can  but  say  again,  and  yet  again, 

God  keep  you  every  time  and  everywhere. 

Mary  Higman 


[108] 


ND  said  I  that  my  limbs  were  old? 


And  said  I  that  my  blood  was  cold. 
And  that  my  kindly  fire  was  fled 
And  my  poor  withered  heart  was  dead; 

And  that  I  might  not  sing  of  Love  ? 
How  could  I  to  the  dearest  theme 
That  ever  warmed  a  minstrel’s  dream. 

So  foul,  so  false  a  recreant  prove  ! 

How  could  I  name  Love’s  very  name. 

Nor  wake  my  harp  to  notes  of  flame  ! 

In  peace.  Love  tunes  the  shepherd’s  reed  ; 
In  war,  he  mounts  the  warrior’s  steed  ; 

In  halls,  in  gay  attire  is  seen  ; 

In  hamlets,  dances  on  the  green. 

Love  rules  the  court,  the  camp,  the  grove. 
And  men  below  and  saints  above  ; 

For  Love  is  Heaven,  and  Heaven  is  Love. 


Sir  Walter  Scott 


[IOC,] 


LET  me  not  to  the  marriage  of  true  minds 
Admit  impediments.  Love  is  not  love 
Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds. 

Or  bends  with  the  remover  to  remove ; 

Oh,  no  !  it  is  an  ever-fixed  mark. 

That  looks  on  tempests  and  is  never  shaken  ; 

It  is  the  star  to  every  wandering  bark. 

Whose  worth’s  unknown  although  his  height  be 
taken. 

Love’s  not  Time’s  fool,  though  rosy  lips  and  cheeks 
Within  his  bending  sickle’s  compass  come  ; 

Love  alters  not  with  his  brief  hours  and  weeks. 

But  bears  it  out  even  to  the  edge  of  doom. 

If  this  be  error  and  upon  me  proved, 

I  never  writ,  nor  no  man  ever  loved. 

William  Shakespeare 


[no] 


IF  I  had  known  in  the  morning. 

How  wearily  all  the  day 
The  words  unkind  would  trouble  my  mind 
That  I  said  when  you  went  away, 

I  had  been  more  careful,  darling. 

Nor  given  you  needless  pain  ; 

But — we  vex  our  own  with  look  and  tone 
We  might  never  take  back  again. 

For  though  in  the  quiet  evening 

You  may  give  me  the  kiss  of  peace. 

Yet  it  well  might  be  that  never  for  me 
The  pain  of  the  heart  should  cease  ! 

How  many  go  forth  in  the  morning 
Who  never  come  home  at  night. 

And  hearts  have  been  broken  for  harsh  words  spoken 
That  sorrow  can  ne’er  set  right. 

Margaret  E.  Sangster 


r  ii.  i 


IT  isn’t  the  thing  you  do,  dear. 

It’s  the  thing  you  leave  undone. 

That  gives  you  a  bit  of  heartache 
At  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

The  tender  word  forgotten. 

The  letter  you  did  not  write. 

The  flower  you  did  not  send,  dear. 

Are  your  haunting  ghosts  at  night. 

The  stone  you  might  have  lifted 
Out  of  a  brother’s  way; 

The  bit  of  heartsome  counsel 

You  were  hurried  too  much  to  say  ; 

The  loving  touch  of  the  hand,  dear. 

The  gentle,  winning  tone. 

Which  you  had  no  time  nor  thought  for. 
With  troubles  enough  of  your  own. 

For  life  is  all  too  short,  dear. 

And  sorrow  is  all  too  great. 

To  suffer  our  slow  compassion. 

That  tarries  until  too  late  ; 

And  it  isn’t  the  thing  you  do,  dear. 

It’s  the  thing  you  leave  undone. 

Which  gives  you  a  bit  of  heartache 
At  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

Margaret  Elizabeth  Sangster 

[ iiz] 


GOOD-BY,  Sweetheart, 

I  leave  thee  with  all  purest  things^ 

That  when  some  fair  temptation  sings 
Its  luring  song,  though  sore  beset. 

Thou  ’It  stronger  be  ;  then  no  regret 
Life-long  will  follow  after  thee. 

With  touches  lighter  than  the  air 
I  kiss  thy  forehead  brave  and  fair. 

And  say  to  God  this  last  deep  prayer. 

“Oh,  guard  him  always  night  and  day. 

So  from  Thy  peace  he  shall  not  stray.” 

And  so  Good-by,  Sweetheart. 

Good-by,  Sweetheart.  We  seem  to  part; 
Yet  still  within  my  inmost  heart 
Thou  goest  with  me.  Still  my  place 
I  hold  in  thine  by  love’s  dear  grace  ; 

Yet  all  my  life  seems  going  out. 

As  slow  I  turn  my  face  about 
To  go  alone  another  way, — 

To  be  alone  till  life’s  last  day. 

Unless  thy  smile  can  light  my  way. 

Good-by,  Sweetheart.  The  dreaded  dawn. 
That  tells  our  love’s  long  tryst  is  gone. 

Is  purpling  all  the  pallid  sky. 

As  loud  I  sigh.  Sweetheart,  good-by  ! 

[  1 1 3  ]  Mary  Clemmer 


GOD  keep  you  safe,  my  love. 

All  through  the  night; 

Rest  close  in  His  encircled  arms 
Until  the  light. 

My  heart  is  with  you  as  I  kneel  to  pray. 

Good  night !  God  keep  you  in  His  care  alway. 

Thick  shadows  creep  like  silent  ghosts 
About  my  head  ; 

I  lose  myself  in  tender  dreams. 

While  overhead 

The  moon  comes  stealing  through  the  window  bars, 
A  silver  sickle  gleaming  ’mid  the  stars. 

For  I,  though  I  am  far  away. 

Feel  safe  and  strong 

To  trust  you  thus,  dear  love — and  yet — 

The  night  is  long. 

I  say  with  sobbing  breath,  the  fond,  old  prayer : 
Good-night,  sweet  dreams,  God  keep  you  every¬ 
where. 


Mary  Higman 


INDEX 


Adam,  Sarah  Flower 

- 

- 

- 

96 

Anon  - 

- 

- 

- 

97 

Armstrong,  George  Francis 

- 

- 

18 

Barlow,  George 

- 

- 

- 

100 

Bayly,  Thomas  Haynes 

- 

- 

- 

102 

Blake,  James  V. 

- 

-  ' 

- 

75 

Browning,  Elizabeth  Barrett 

- 

- 

-8,  48,  94 

Buchanan,  Robert 

- 

- 

- 

49 

Burnett,  Thomas 

- 

- 

- 

72 

Burns,  Robert  - 

- 

- 

- 

35,  79,  9° 

Byron,  Lord 

- 

- 

- 

50 

Cary,  Phoebe 

- 

- 

- 

-6,  61,  98 

Clemmer,  Mary 

- 

- 

- 

1 1 3 

Coleridge,  Hartley  - 

- 

- 

- 

34 

Coolidge,  Susan 

- 

- 

- 

16 

Craik,  Dina  Maria  Muloch 

- 

- 

60 

Crofts,  George  W. 

- 

- 

- 

12 

Dobson,  Austin  - 

- 

- 

- 

46 

Douglas 

- 

- 

- 

26 

Gardiner,  Celia  E. 

- 

- 

- 

87 

Greenwell,  Dora 

- 

- 

74 

Higman,  Mary  - 

- 

- 

- 

-  108,  114 

Hugo,  Victor 

- 

- 

- 

36 

Hunt,  Leigh 

- 

- 

- 

-  41*68 

Holland,  Josiah  Gilbert 
Holmes,  Oliver  Wendell 

- 

- 

- 

76 

11,  38  ,  70 

Hood,  Tom 

- 

- 

- 

9,  10 

Houghton,  George 

- 

- 

- 

44 

Ingelow,  Jean  - 

- 

- 

- 

62 

Jackson,  Helen  Hunt 

- 

• 

- 

*7»  3*>  51 

Larcom,  Lucy  - 

- 

* 

- 

40 

Lindsay,  M. 

Longfellow,  Henry  Wadsworth 

Lowell,  James  Russell 

Mackay,  Charles 

Manvilie,  Marion 

Massey,  Gerald  - 

Mason,  John 

Meredith,  Owen 

Miller,  Joaquin  - 

Morris,  Lewis  - 

Moore,  Thomas 

Norris,  Alfred  - 

Norton,  Caroline 

Palgrave,  Francis  Turner 

Perry,  Nora 

Phelps,  Elizabeth  Stuart  - 
Procter,  Adelaide  Anne  - 
Riley,  James  Whitcomb  - 
Rossetti,  Christina  Georgina 
Pvossetti,  Dante  Gabriel  - 
Sangster,  Margaret  E. 

Scott,  Sir  Waiter 
Shakespeare,  William 
Sherman,  Frank  Dempste* 
Sidney,  Sir  Philip 
Spaulding,  Susan  Marr  - 
Southey,  Robert 
Taylor,  Bayard  - 
Tennyson,  Lord  Alfred  - 
Thomas,  Edith  M. 

Townsend,  Mary  Ashley  - 
Whittier,  John  Greenleaf  - 
Wilcox,  Ella  Wheeler 
Wordsworth,  William 


IOI 


i 


3G  54, 

*  hi,  i 

i 

i 


13.  i9»  52>  58>  59. 


5.  78, 

-  43. 


On  CO  O  ro  U-J  t^vo  m  in  O  0\<0  rh  +  n  00  co  co  M  On  O  O  On  H  m  rh  t>.  cnio  rt 

no  NO  cnoo  O  O  MOO  M  H  OO  00  10  NO  M  T$-oo  ON  no  •-hO'-iMcoOnOMI^m  00  nooo 


